The Intern
by JaraelMoonsilver
Summary: A mysterious girl shows up at the home of Sherlock and John. Why is she there? John's theory is she's there to put Sherlock in his place, but there's more to her than meets the eye. Much more...
1. Chapter 1

The girl stood, alone, outside the door, building up her courage. She had waited so long for this to happen. She had saved up, begged her parents for months to let her go.

But, now that she was here...

She shivered as the cold wind whistled around her; nipping at her unprotected ears, which stuck out like Dumbo's. She regretted not bringing her hoodie.

She took a deep breath. It was now or never. She rang the doorbell underneath the sign.

The sign read: **221B Baker Street**

* * *

John Watson was just putting the finishing touches on his latest update of his blog when he heard the doorbell ring. He closed his laptop, then reached for his cane and walked towards the door.

"John, would you mind getting that?"

"I'm going right now." He replied as he opened the door. He found himself looking at a teenage girl. "Can I help you?"

She nodded. "Um, yeah. Uh, are you Dr. John Watson?"

"Yes."

"Good." She looked relieved and nervous at the same time. "May- may I speak to Sherlock Holmes, please?"

Watson glanced behind him. "I don't think he's available at the moment." In fact, Sherlock was in the middle of mixing random chemicals together in the kitchen. Watson hoped fervently he wouldn't blow something up... again.

"Please? I need to see him." She looked up at him with pleading eyes.

He tore his gaze away. "Oh, alright. Sherlock!"

"Aha! Wait, that's not quite right... What do you want, John? Can't you see I'm in the middle of finding the components of this poison I found on an old dart that the museum was throwing away?"

"Would you just come here?"

"Alright, alright." Sherlock came towards the door, rolling his eyes and wiping his hands on his jeans. "Just when I was about to-" He stopped short when he caught sight of the girl. "John, who is this?"

The girl stepped inside boldly. "My name is Astrid. And I'm here-"

"Wait. Stop, stop, stop!" Sherlock was holding his ears. "Your fake accent is _terrible!_"

Watson looked confused. "It's fake?"

"Yes! Of course!"

The girl smiled nervously. "Sorry. I just thought you guys would... Anyways, I'm here to-"

"What grade are you in?" Sherlock interrupted again.

"Uh..." Astrid paused for a second. "N- ninth."

"Ah! Just as I thought! Homeschooled."

John raised his eyebrows. "How would you know?"

"Simple. She-"

"May I explain?" The girl interrupted right back. Without waiting for a response, she went right in. "It is a week before summer vacation, yet I'm not in school. I'm trying, and failing, evidently, to blend in with the British accent, but I'm American. Now, why would an American student be in England during school hours? I could be cutting class, but not likely. Homeschooled. Another giveaway was that I hesitated to give my grade because I don't have an official grade if I'm learning from home; therefore I would have to figure out what a normal 14-year-old's grade would be, which I did in my head."

Sherlock's jaw dropped. "How did you-"

"And, yes, I planted those in there just so you could feel a sense of accomplishment when you discovered there was more to me than meets the eye."

John was still confused. "But, that doesn't explain why you're here."

Astrid smiled. "I'm here to apply for an internship with Mr. Holmes here."


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock blinked. "What?"

"I believe I was speaking English."

"You- you- she can't- tell her, John!" Sherlock gestured towards Astrid, obviously flustered.

John blinked. "Um... I- I think I want to stay out of this one, if you don't mind."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. No, no, absolutely not. Good day." He started to shut the door, but she stuck her foot in the crack.

She looked up at him with pleading eyes. "You- you don't understand. I had to spend _months_ trying to convince my parents to let me go, and I still had to use my own savings to buy a plane ticket. I hardly have any money left, no where to stay, and I can't get home until the end of the summer. And I don't think anyone would hire a strange American girl, and- and-" She turned her face away as Sherlock opened the door back up. Then she sat down, her back towards the detective. Her shoulders were shaking.

John rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sherlock. At least give her a chance."

Sherlock sighed. "Fine. You can come in and-"

Astrid perked up immediately. She jumped to her feet and gave Sherlock a hug. "Thank you! Thank you! You won't regret it, I promise!"

Sherlock peeled her off of him and walked into the living room, Astrid and John close behind. He gestured towards the room. "Alright, if you think you're worthy enough to be an intern to me, show me what you've got. Look around this room and tell me everything you can deduct about me."

She nodded, then took in her surroundings. _Hm._ After a few minutes of pacing and poking around, she began.

"You don't read very often, for starters, unless you've read them all and are bored of them (likely). You get bored often and can't think of anything to do until someone hands you a case. You hardly ever carry a gun, (unlike Dr. Watson here) although you know very well _how_ to use one (You haven't used yours in about a week, I'd say). You have your own laptop, but usually don't use it. You do, however, use John's (can I call you John?). You usually can't be bothered about getting dressed unless you have somewhere to be, and you use the kitchen (much to John and Mrs. Hudson's dismay) as a lab of sorts; often leaving your experiments for John to find, such as a decapitated head in the fridge. And you're single and have no intention of ever dating or (God forbid) getting married."

John stared slack-jawed at Astrid while Sherlock simply raised an eyebrow. "Hm. Explain."

She took a deep breath. "Well... First of all, the books. You have large shelves full of them, but the dust on their binding is pretty thick."

"Yes..."

"The carpet isn't vacuumed very often, and you can see evidences of quite a bit of pacing. Also, the couch is well-worn as if you've had it a long time or you shift around a lot, both of which are most likely true."

"Go on..." Sherlock prodded.

"John's coat hanging over there has an impression on the pocket that looks a lot like the outline of a gun, however yours does not. And there are bullet-holes in the wall that John would _never_ make, therefore it was you. The gun is lying on the ground, half-slid under the couch with a fine layer of dust on it. Also, the holes in the wall are not just a smiley-face, but a spray-painted smiley-face _that you shot afterwards._ This shows good aim at the least."

"The laptop?"

"The hinge on yours is pretty stiff, unlike John's. Also, I know you have a website that you update often, so you usually use his."

"And the clothes?"

"You're wearing a bathrobe."

"Oh?" Sherlock looked down. "So I am. Continue."

"There is evidence of at least a few acid-burned holes on the kitchen table, not to mention the test tubes just sitting there."

"And the girl thing?"

Astrid smiled. "Well... You just are one of those men that looks like a bachelor."

John cracked a smile at that while Sherlock thought. "Just a moment." He walked out of the room.

John turned to Astrid. "That was... amazing." She blushed. "Except... How did you know about the severed head?"

She smiled mischievously. "I read your blog. Don't tell Sherlock!"

Holmes walked back into the room, a grimace on his face. "I- I suppose-" He sighed. "Welcome to Baker Street."

Astrid squealed and jumped up and down. "Thank you! You don't know what this means to me! I- I-" She couldn't finish her sentence, because she then promptly fainted from excitement.


	3. Chapter 3

When Astrid woke up, she was lying on a couch with a blanket tucked around her. It took her a minute to remember where she was. Sherlock. She sat bolt upright and looked around the room. He was sitting across the room, typing away at his laptop. "Um, Mr. Holmes?"

He looked up. "Please don't start with that 'Mr.' business. What?"

"I- I was just wondering how I got here."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, exasperated. "How else were you supposed to get there? I carried you."

"You-"

"Yes, do we really need to dwell on that? Now, if you're done 'fangirling', I'm trying to think."

Astrid looked around. John was out. That meant she was alone with Sherlock. Alone... with Sherlock. Oh, boy. She sat up, and immediately felt dizzy. "Whoa," She muttered as she fell back down, her hand holding her head.

"Are you alright?" He glanced back at her.

"Yea. Um, how long was I out?"

Sherlock checked his watch. "Oh, about three hours or so."

"What? Didn't you try to wake me?"

"Well, I was going to, but John said to leave you be. By the way, you're slipping into that accent again. I find it almost insulting to think I sound like that to an American such as yourself... what was I doing? Ah, never mind. I've lost it." He closed the laptop with a sigh, then looked over at Astrid. "You aren't sleeping in a hotel, I hope."

"Um, well, where else would I stay?"

Sherlock looked slightly embarrassed. Wait, embarrassed? Sherlock Holmes? "I was... going to offer the room downstairs. It's a little rundown and dirty, but... If- if you want, I could stay down there and you could..." He trailed off.

Astrid was confused. Sherlock was willing to give up his comfort to a girl he hardly knows. Maybe it was because she was a girl. "No, it's fine. I'll just get my stuff from-"

"-Already got it down there."

"Oh. Thanks, I guess?"

He flashed one of his quick, rare smiles. "Well, the only thing missing is a person to sleep there. It's just about 10 o'clock. You might want to get to bed."

"Thanks. I'll just..." She beamed at him. "Thank you, Sherlock."

As she headed downstairs, she could've sworn she heard him say, "Don't mention it... Astrid."

The next few days went by in a blur. Astrid was mainly Sherlock's "Watson Replacement", meaning that she had to get everything for him, even if he was a mere two feet away (sometimes less). She enjoyed observing Sherlock do his work; seeing what he did to concentrate, what tiny things he observed from the smallest details, etc. Of course, she wanted to help, too. But, he just wouldn't give her a chance. And, of course, she was too shy to give him what-for. So, she did what he asked, all in hopes that he would ask for her help sometime.

Unfortunately, that "sometime" came in the most unexpected way.

* * *

It happened one day when Astrid came back from having her first day off. She met John at the door, so they walked inside together. They entered Sherlock's room only to hear a strange thumping noise coming from the kitchen. John looked down at Astrid, who looked back at him. They were both thinking the same thing. What is going on?

They both rushed in to find Sherlock sitting on a stool, his hand on a cutting board with his fingers spread out, stabbing a knife back and forth in the spaces between them; getting faster and faster. Astrid could hear him muttering, "Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored..."

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, "What do you think you're doing?"

At John's outburst, Sherlock jumped, causing the knife to miss its target...

...and stab the outside of Sherlock's hand.

He turned around, exasperation written all over his face. "Oh, thank you John, for ruining my concentration!" He turned back to the knife, which was stuck in the cutting board. With a grunt, he pulled it free, allowing blood to spill out onto the table.

Astrid stood shocked, but not for very long. She rushed over and grabbed the knife out of Sherlock's grasp, then tossed it into the sink. She then proceeded to yell at him. "What do you think you're doing, you bloody idiot? You could have killed yourself! Who do you think you are, a three-year-old who doesn't understand the meaning of the word dangerous?"

"You're doing that accent again."

"I don't care!" She yelled. All three of them were stunned by her outburst, but she kept going. "Why were you doing that in the first place?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes like she was completely stupid. "I'm bored. And, John said I couldn't shoot holes in the wall again."

"You know what? I don't know why I care so much, because you obviously don't!"

"Well, it's probably because you feel there is some sort of connection between us; even though your hypothesis couldn't be further from the truth."

Astrid took a step back, her face stricken. Then, turning away to hide the tears that sprang into her eyes, she ran down to the basement and collapsed on her bed.


End file.
